Left Behind
by 309BakerStreet
Summary: Post Reichenbach. Molly keeps finding random items left by Sherlock after he stays at her flat. Things change between the pathologist and consulting detective. Sherlock/Molly, John/Mary, Molly/OC
1. Chapter 1

Okay. So here is my very first of fanfics. I absolutely adore Molly Hooper, and so I really hope that I did a decent job with this. Please Please review and tell me what you think! It starts a bit slow, but those are always my favorites anyway. I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

It was 10:00 by the time Molly Hooper left the morgue. Her body ached after doing autopsies all day, and her neck was stiff from all the paperwork that accompanied them. All she wanted to do was take a long, hot shower, slip into her ratty but ever so comfortable pajamas, and drown all her stress away with tea and romance novels. At least in those stories, the innocent woman ended up with a man on her arm and a ring on her finger, and not mutilated on her lab table. It had been a hard day.

She was still lost in her thoughts as she climbed the two flights of stairs to her tiny flat. She wandered in, throwing her coat and bag on the empty sofa. And then she almost screamed when a gasp of pain came from the shadows on the cushion. Sherlock Holmes was lying in her flat, clutching his ribs where her bag had hit him.

"Sherlock?" She didn't ask all the questions running through her mind, only came to his side and quickly assessed the damage. He was definitely worse than the last time he had come to her about a month ago. She tried not to blush as she helped him pull off his shirt, concerned by the blood that had started to seep through it. "Oh my God, Sherlock... what happened this time?"

"Liverpool… homeless… disguise… pocketknife" Sherlock mumbled, only a few words actually making sense as he described what happened through clenched teeth. Molly frowned. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time since he had been dead that Sherlock had come to her for medical treatment. Fortunately, however, she had learned her lesson, and this time she was prepared. She got the medical supplies she now kept in the end table and got to work. Luckily, the gash was long, but quite shallow, although it did need about twenty stitches to get it closed. She sighed, but didn't say a word, knowing that this probably wasn't going to be the last time this happened.

Molly got up and brought Sherlock a cup of tea. She sipped her own as she sank onto the sofa. Toby her cat jumped quietly up next to her and settled into her lap as she sat there, waiting. It didn't take long this time before he started talking. Molly had noticed throughout the years that Sherlock never could keep his deductions to himself. It didn't matter how hard he would try, they always came out, whether voluntarily or not. He was so like a child in that way, who had learned something new and just had to share it with the world. However, while he was undercover working to destroy Moriarty's web, this was quite the dangerous habit, as one wrong word could blow his cover. So whenever he came to her, she made him spill it all, talking until he finished or fell asleep. She couldn't tell if it worked or not, but it was her own little way of keeping Sherlock safe.

He spoke for what seemed like hours, weaving stories of pain, betrayal, and danger, each one burning its own impression onto Molly's heart. She had thought that by now she would be immune to it, but she still winced at all the suffering there was in this world. She knew that it affected him worse than anybody. He might be speaking in a flat, almost monotone voice, but the sadness was still there in his eyes. She put her hand down on the couch a few inches from his. Not touching, but close enough to comfort him. To let him know that she, Molly Hooper, would always be there for him, and that he would never be alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sherlock woke up, for a brief second wondering where he was. Then he winced and put his hand to his abdomen as he remembered. He had fallen asleep unceremoniously on Molly Hooper's couch yet again, only to awaken to freshly treated injuries and a blanket tucked in around him. He looked at the clock- 8 o clock. He groaned, realizing that he had wasted 6 full hours asleep in the pathologist's flat. He hated being injured- the healing process took so much of his energy that could have easily been used figuring out where the last few members of Moriarty's web were. He was so close now. 2 and a half years in, and he figured there were only about ten more places he needed to go. What a relief it would be to finally go back to Baker Street and regain his old life.

Well, not exactly his old life. According to Molly, there had been quite a few changes in recent years. Lestrade had recently gotten remarried to his ex wife. Sherlock gave that 2 years at best, seeing as how she was already sleeping with her yoga instructor. His best friend, John Watson, had gotten engaged to a Mary Morstan, who according to Mycroft was frustratingly perfect and had no record of criminal activity at all. She was now living at 221B Baker Street, but he didn't see why the flat couldn't be split 3 ways. As long as she liked the violin and left his skull alone, that is.

Even Molly herself had changed. She had received a promotion at work, now the lead pathologist, and was working many extra hours to make the transition. He could see the weight of new responsibility reflected in her eyes, but she didn't complain. Molly Hooper never complained. It was something he had always rather liked about her, that she never let anything compromise her. She always just did whatever needed to be done, in a timely manner and without any complaints leaving her lips.

She was different now. Not significantly so, although to Sherlock everything was important. She was quieter, but she smiled more. She didn't stutter anymore, and she seemed to have found herself a purpose. It was interesting to see her like this, he thought. Her heart was still just as soft and kind as ever, but there was a steel to her now. Molly Hooper wasn't going to be hurt or pushed around anymore. Although Sherlock knew that this would be somewhat of a nuisance for him when he finally returned to his normal life, meaning that he could no longer just flatter her into giving him spare body parts, he didn't seem to mind that much. There was something quite impressive about her quiet resilience, and and he found the idea of Molly Hooper standing up for herself quite intriguing.

She even had a boyfriend now, although it was more of an on again off again sort of deal. Sherlock had met him once, as he had come in bleeding one night when they had been curled up on the couch watching the telly. She had escorted him to the bedroom, and then went out to Thomas, as he thought the man was called, to have him leave as she was stuck taking care of her drunken cousin for the night. He wondered what Molly saw in him. He wasn't, in Sherlock's opinion, very handsome, nor did he have a high paying job, working as a lower division police officer. Even through the pain in his shoulder, Sherlock could deduce the nervous twitch of a former alcoholic, the fact that he bit his fingernails and the insecurity about his height visible in his slouch. He couldn't understand Molly's choice, nor could he stop himself from wondering about it.

He looked back at the clock- 8:26. He cursed himself for getting so distracted. Who Molly dated was her business, and it really shouldn't be bothering him so. Now he was even further behind. Molly had obviously already left for work, so he did a quick run through her shower and got dressed in some of the clothes she had stowed away for him. He pulled out some of the nicotine patches from a box of things she kept specifically for his visits, and leaned down to scratch Toby behind the ears before leaving on his mission once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey all! I am really sorry for the ridiculously long wait between updates. I just wanted to get the whole story finished, and what was originally supposed to be a fairly short fic ended up taking over my life, during finals week, no less. Anyway, I hope that you like it because i have really enjoyed writing it. **

**Disclaimer: I so obviously don't own Sherlock. And you should all be thankful that I don't, because if I did, all we would see was Sherlolly fluff and Mrs. Hudson being amazing. Oh, and John yelling "Damn my leg!" at random intervals. So it is definitely for the best that I have absolutely no say in what happens.**

Chapter 3

Molly came home early, hoping that the man would still be there on her couch. But of course he wasn't. He never stayed put for long, and always left a mess in his wake. She picked up blood stained clothes from outside the shower and sighed. It looked like she was going to have to switch laundromats again. A person can only clean so many blood soaked clothes at a place before people started asking questions.

There was a blue scarf lying on the floor of her bedroom, and nicotine patches strewn all over the table. Honestly, for someone on the run, he really could be more careful. If Lestrade ever decided to search her flat, it would be obvious who occasionally spent the night. Of course, that would never happen, and Sherlock knew that. She was Molly Hooper, the girl who no one saw, and he was Sherlock Holmes, the dead sociopath. What a pair they made.

She got to the couch and folded up the blanket that she had wrapped around him the night before. Underneath it, she found a golden pocket watch. She picked it up and stared at it.

It was old, to be sure, but perfectly on time. It had some sort of engraving on the side, but it was hard to make out. It must've been some sort of heirloom, she decided, although it probably wasn't from anyone he knew. Sherlock did, after all have a bad habit of pick pocketing people he found annoying—Baker Street was filled with badges of Lestrade's to prove it. The watch could have belonged to anybody, but it reminded her of the mad detective and all of his eccentricities. And it made her smile.

She took the watch into her bedroom and pulled out a shoebox that she kept under her bed. Inside was an assortment of different items that Sherlock had left behind whenever he stayed at her flat. It seemed he was always forgetting something. There was a yo-yo, a Statue of Liberty keychain, a Russian Nesting doll, a miniature plastic skull, and now a golden pocket watch.

She laughed at the total randomness of the items, none of which seemed much like Sherlock at all. Well, the skull maybe, but it was bright pink so she still had her doubts. Once (she tried not to think if) he returned to his regular life again, she would give him the box back. But for now, she let herself imagine that they were more than just random items and what the items meant, and tried to understand the man behind the Russian nesting doll.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. **

**Another thing I should probably mention- The chapters are really ridiculously short, as you have probably already noticed. There is no reason for this, other than I have trouble paying attention to the long chapters, so I decided to make mine smaller. That might change for future stories. Hopefully it doesn't bother you. **

**Also, I will usually be updating 2 at a time. I hope you don't mind!**

Chapter 4

Sherlock came to Molly all of three times in the next 6 months, which she supposed she ought to have been grateful for. After all, that was three times more than anyone else in his life had been given. The first time was for a gash to the head that had bled all over her favorite blanket, but turned out only needing a few stitches. He was up and gone the next day, leaving behind a fake rose on the couch. That was odd, but certainly no weirder than all the other knick knacks he had left in her flat.

The second was for a gunshot wound in the leg. She wished he would have gone to the hospital for that one, or at least come and found her at the morgue. Although it wasn't life threatening, she really didn't like having to perform surgery on her kitchen table. He had left behind an anatomically correct model of the human heart this time, which was more than a bit creepy for anybody but Sherlock Holmes.

Molly placed these items with the rest of them, but she moved the box to the top of her fridge instead. Having the model underneath her bed, along with the ticking pocket watch, was just a bit too Telltale Heart for her, and she really didn't fancy falling asleep each night only to have dreams inspired by Edgar Allen Poe.

However the last time he arrived was different. Because this time, there was no injury. Sherlock Holmes was more exhausted than he could ever imagine, but his job was finished. He was ready to return to the streets of London, ready to be alive once again.

He came by the flat that night without really ever thinking about it. He wasn't sure what he was doing there, other than the fact that once again he didn't have anywhere else to go. And he didn't know what to do. Only Molly could help him. Molly, who always understood him. Molly, who listened as he shared his whole life with her, and never judged him for it. Molly, who no longer stuttered around him, but had somehow become his biggest ally in his darkest times. Molly, who had the kindest heart and was always there to save the day. Molly would help him. Molly would know what to do.

Somehow, through all his thoughts, he ended up at the pathologist's flat. He picked the lock, planning on waiting for her on the couch like he usually did, and opened the door in his noiseless way. And he froze almost immediately at what he saw.

It seemed to happen in slow motion in front of him. The mild mannered policeman knelt on his soon to give out knee, slightly leaning forward and holding out a box. He opened the box, revealing a diamond engagement ring that was a size too big for Molly's finger. Her face lit up at that moment, and her big brown eyes shone as she nodded, speechless. The policeman got up and swept the pathologist into his arms, swinging her around with his face buried in her long hair.

Neither one of them ever noticed the detective, who silently pulled the door shut, turned on his heel, and started sprinting towards the street.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**I know I said I would do these 2 at a time, but this one just had to be by itself. It is actually one of my favorites that I wrote, although some people might think it is a bit out of character. But anyways...**

Chapter 5

John. John. He needed to see John. Sherlock thought as he got in the cab. "221B Baker Street" he told the cabbie, "Quickly."

This couldn't be real. Molly had never even hinted that she and the policeman (Thomas? Was that his name?) were actually serious enough to even consider something like marriage. How had he missed something so important?

Then again, Molly didn't really spend a lot of time talking about herself in any of their conversations of late. Come to think of it, She had never really spent much time talking about herself. She was his pathologist, but what was she beyond all that?

Sherlock had his deductions. He knew how to read her feelings by the shade of lipstick she wore, what each facial expression meant, and exactly what to say in order to manipulate her into giving him exactly what he wanted. But did he really know her? After so many years, Sherlock found he wasn't sure.

Why did he care so much about this? She was his friend yes, but so was Lestrade, and he hadn't given a damn about his marriage. Possibly because it was doomed to fail yet again, Sherlock reasoned. His wife was hopelessly unfaithful. So why was Molly's engagement causing him so much distress?

It had to be the groom. that was what didn't make sense. Hadn't Molly been in love with HIM all these years? So why was she now about to marry someone that was his complete opposite? In Sherlock's mind, it didn't add up.

Thomas was kind and quiet, but there was no excitement behind anything he did. He quickly gathered up all the information he had of the man, allowing his thoughts to run a hundred miles an hour trying to figure him out.

Late thirties. Married once before, wife died in automobile accident about 5 years ago. Police at New Scotland yard. Rarely went outside other than for work. Left handed, but shoots and plays golf with his right. Short temper, forgives easily. Had been in love with Molly for 2 years, but had only worked up the nerve to ask her out about a year ago. An old bicycle injury meant that his knees would have to be replaced within 10 years. Former alcoholic, after death of wife. Sober 18 months. Cellist, but not a very good one.

All in all, the red flags were few and far between. Meeting Molly had made the alcoholism stop, sending him straight to rehab a week after their first conversation. He was a man who had not laughed in years before now, and the recent lines on his face indicated that she had changed that.

The pathologist worked wonders, Sherlock thought as the taxi came to a halt. She attracted the broken and fixed them in ways that they had never thought possible. And hadn't she done that for him as well? Walking in covered in blood, she had never said anything. She had just fixed him when he had been broken, in more ways than one.

Sherlock ran up the stairs, still lost in unfamiliar thoughts, and burst through the door of 221B Baker Street. "John, I need your help." He strode over to his flatmate, who had a look of absolute shock on his face. What was that... Oh. "No, I am not dead. Hard to explain, but it was necessary to save your life. And Lestrade's, and Mrs. Hudson's. We can talk about that later. Now please. I need your help, John."

He was instantly floored as John's fist flattened against his jaw, causing him to bite his lip hard enough that he tasted blood. 'Not good?' he thought as he lay on the floor at the feet of his flatmate, who was screaming at the top of his lungs,

"WHAT THE HELL, SHERLOCK!"

**Okay. So I was dying to bring John into the story, but I really didn't want the reunion scene to be the same as anybody else's. Also, some people might think it is out of character, but I personally think it is entirely possible that Sherlock, lost in his thoughts as he most definitely would be right now, could forget what a big deal this was. Sherlock isn't inherently mean, just thoughtless and uninformed about human sentiment, and that is what I tried to capture. **

**Plus I just love John, and since this is my fic, I can do whatever I want. :) REVIEWS PLEASE!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay you guys are seriously the best. A HUGE thank you to everybody who reviewed this story. I checked out the stats on this story, and there are people reading all over the world reading something that I wrote. That is mind boggling to say the least. Thank you tons!**

**Disclaimer: Really? I DON"T OWN IT. **

Chapter 6

Molly looked down at the shining diamond sitting on her left hand. It was gorgeous, but big and audacious: not really something she would have chosen for herself. Hopefully today she would finally be able to leave work early enough to go and get it resized. She really couldn't risk it falling off her finger all the time. Thomas had spent so much money on the ring, and she couldn't imagine how awful she would feel if it got lost.

It was such a strange feeling, being engaged. It certainly meant that she was being noticed a lot more. People from all parts of the hospital were coming to congratulate her, and she didn't quite know what to do with all the attention.

Luckily, she wasn't the biggest source of gossip- not by a long shot. This was because her engagement had coincided with the week that Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, had come back from the dead. And that wasn't really a spotlight that two people could share.

Not that Molly much minded. It was a spotlight that he could have. Although, looking back, she would've liked to not have been overshadowed in at least one area. She had meant to call her best friend Mary right away, of course, so that she and John could be the first to know her news. However, before she could even pick up the phone, it rang. Mary had called, completely out of breath, saying that Sherlock Holmes was back from the dead and in their flat and John had punched him in the face. In light of these events, Molly had decided to wait until the next day to break her news.

She was a little upset about Sherlock. They had become so close, and she had thought that he would have at least told her before he waltzed straight into Baker Street and into his old life. Didn't their friendship mean a bit more than that? She had hoped so, but with Sherlock Holmes you never really knew.

Molly had barely seen him since his coming back. It had been three weeks now, and the man had only been down to see her once in the morgue. And that had been because of a case.

She shook her head. She must have been crazy to think that she meant something to Sherlock. All that talk about how she counted… if she counted, why didn't she seem to anymore?

It was different now… She knew that. Especially now that she was engaged to Thomas. And she was over Sherlock, so he couldn't manipulate her anymore to get what he wanted. Well- basically over him. Can you really ever be over someone that you have loved for so long? She was trying to be.

She truly loved Thomas. He was sweet, kind, gentle, reliable. He was everything that Sherlock was not and that she deserved. And she was going to marry him. Everything was going to be great.

She decided not to think these kind of thoughts anymore. It was hurting her brain to try and understand the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes. It would be better to just forget about him and focus on the autopsy she was performing. There was something strange about the mark on the back of the petite brunette, and Molly leaned over to see it better...

Sherlock burst through the doors of the morgue, followed by John. "Ah, Molly" he smiled. "Do you remember those extra livers in the freezer? Well, I need a favor…"

Molly sighed. Guess it wouldn't hurt if she went one more night without getting her ring resized.


	7. Chapter 7

**Happy Tuesday! I hope you enjoy everything. This chapter is kind of just a set up chapter, and nothing really happens, but it had to be done. **

**Disclaimer: Nope. Own nothing.**

Chapter 7

Sherlock couldn't focus. He could hear John and Mary out watching the television, laughing about some movie with a predictable story line and mediocre acting. Mary hadn't moved out when he had returned from the dead. In fact, her reaction had been completely different than what he had been expecting. Out of everyone he knew, she was the only one to just accept the fact that he was alive and would be taking back his life as normal. It was odd how she had overlooked everything that in a normal situation ought to have made her upset and just went on with life the next day as normal.

He didn't know where John and Mary had met, or how. He suspected that Molly had been involved, what with the two women being so close. Her obsession with romance novels would likely lead to a desire to create a similar situation in real life, both for herself and for others. In fact it may be the same reason for her now being with Thomas, although Sherlock doubted it. Thomas didn't fit the part of the romantic hero.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, which startled Sherlock. John peeked his head through the door. "Listen, Sherlock, do you mind if we chat for just a bit? I've got something important I want to talk about." Sherlock nodded, but didn't say anything.

John sighed. He had hoped for his best friend's full attention, but wasn't surprised. Still, he would just have to go with what he'd gotten. "You know the wedding is in a month." Sherlock nodded again, focusing just a bit more on John's words.

"Mary and I have been talking about it, and Greg has agreed to step down now that things have… changed, and… Sherlock can you please, for one minute of your life, just listen to me?" Sherlock looked up finally, surprised at the raised voice. "What I am trying to say is, will you be my best man?"

Sherlock's immediate response was no. Luckily he stopped to think for a minute before speaking. Yes marriage and everything pertaining to it was a useless gesture in sentiment, but for John he would be willing to make an exception. It would more than likely fix the fractures in their relationship that were still subtly present from his return. As well as... "Who is the Maid of Honor?"

John blinked rapidly. Clearly this was not how he had expected this conversation to go. Sherlock smirked. He had always loved catching John off guard. "Molly. Of course it's Molly. Sorry why is that important?"

"And we toast? And walk down the aisle? And dance?"

"Y-Yes. Sherlock what's that got to do with anything?"

"Then I will do it. All of it. The whole ridiculous observation of sentiment." Sherlock said as he pulled his coat on and tied his scarf around his neck.

"Great. Where are you going?"

He gave his best friend a wink, ignoring the look of shock splashed on the doctor's face. "I've got to buy a new suit."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing**

**To all my lovely readers and reviewers... THANK YOU! It is amazing to know that you are enjoying this. To Rwoqfime Wifgor... You get bonus points for using a Sherlock reference in your review. Also, Lais89 suggested Other Side of the World by KT Tunstall as a song to listen to with this story, and I just had to share it. It is beautiful and really amps up the angst for any Sherlolly shipper. I HIGHLY recommend it. **

Chapter 8

"Tighter!" Molly sucked her stomach in as far as she could, cursing the muffins she'd had for breakfast, and the zipper finally glided up her back. Mary stepped back and looked over at her maid of honor approvingly. "Oh, Molly. You look ravishing."

"Really?" the pathologist squeaked, and her best friend sighed.

"Yes really. Is that so hard for you to believe? I can honestly say you are probably going to be the prettiest woman at my wedding, including me. What I would give for your hair…"

Molly smiled and looked in the mirror. The deep purple dress did look fantastic on her, hugging and accentuating the best parts of her. It was a great color for her skin tone as well, which of course Mary had taken into account. The lengths her best friend went to in order to make her happy constantly amazed her.

They were standing in John's (and now Mary's) room of the flat on Baker Street. The boys had left hours ago on a case, and as it was Molly's day off, she was planning to enjoy it. "Are you sure that it isn't too tight? I don't want to look like I am going to burst through it."

Mary bristled at the comment. "Stop that right now, Molly Hooper. Just because something actually touches your skin and isn't covered by that awful lab coat does not mean that it is too tight. Besides, there is only two more weeks. Like it or not you are stuck with that dress."

The stress of the wedding was getting to Mary. She was tired, and having to battle Molly's insecurities wasn't helping. She decided to change the subject. "So how are your own wedding plans coming along, Molls? You haven't really been forthcoming about that lately."

Molly blushed and waited a while before answering. "There's nothing to tell, really. We talked about it, and decided that we are going to take this engagement very slow. We haven't even picked a date yet, or anything. I've been a bit distracted with work lately." There was nothing inherently wrong with this answer, but Mary knew her best friend well enough to know when something was up.

She squared herself in front of the woman who was now avoiding eye contact with her. "Molly? What's wrong? Are you having second thoughts about the whole Thomas thing? You know you can tell me." The pathologist squirmed under her gaze for a moment, but Mary was determined to find the truth.

"It's nothing Mary, really. Everything is great between Thomas and I. He's sweet, and gentle, and I really do love him." Mary raised her eyebrows, sensing a contradiction. She waited until Molly sighed. "But I am just not sure that it's enough." The sadness in her voice was obvious. "I want it to be enough. But he has given me all of his heart, and although I am trying as hard as I can, I just can't seem to do the same."

Mary processed this. Sad as it was, it wasn't something that surprised her. "Sherlock".

Molly smiled sadly. "There is a part of my heart that has always been his, and I think it always will be. I don't want anything from him. He has caused me enough pain already. And I know eventually, I will love Thomas enough that it won't matter. But I can't commit my life to him right now. The wounds aren't quite healed."

It was hard for Molly to say this, but Mary knew that it was necessary. She thought about the sociopathic consulting detective that lived downstairs. She thought about nights when she had woken up to the sound of a violin or the gunshot wounds that had been inflicted on the poor yellow face painted on the wall. She thought about Sherlock, who was flawed in more ways than she could count, and looked at the pathologist who had always loved him despite all that. More than once she had been impressed by the size of Molly's heart, but for the first time it struck her what a burden it could be.

Mary hugged her friend tightly, trying to put all the love and support Molly needed into the embrace. "It takes a strong woman to love the men of Baker Street. And you, my mousy little Molly, have got to be the strongest woman of us all." She smiled as she heard the door to the flat open and the two men arrive. "Now brighten up and let's go down and have some tea. I have a feeling we are both going to need it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimed. **

**I know that my chapters are already tiny, but I think that this one is probably the shortest by far. Please don't hate it because its so little. I'm trying to keep different viewpoints in separate chapters as much as possible. **

Chapter 9

Sherlock frowned as he sniffed the air in the flat. A woman's perfume had left the trace scent in the air. It smelled like lavender, which could mean only one thing- Molly. His frown deepened.

What was Molly doing in his flat? It was her day off, a fact that the working pathologist had brought up multiple times not more than an hour ago as he tried to get into the morgue. John had made it abundantly clear that he was not to disturb her for the purpose of his own comfort, as she and Mary were in the final stages of wedding planning. He would just have to make do with the pathologist on hand. Sherlock had reluctantly accepted, the case having been too time sensitive to argue this point.

He quickly glanced over at the stairs as John greeted his fiancé with a kiss on the cheek. Sentiment. The word had taken on an even more bitter tone in his mind as of late, surrounded as he was by it. It seemed that wherever he went, there it was, always taunting him and getting in the way of what he needed to do. It frustrated Sherlock to no end.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a long, low whistle, and glanced again at the stairs, where something held his gaze. He came closer, unable to tear his eyes away from what he saw.

Molly slowly descended, her cheeks growing an ever brighter shade of pink from John's whistle. She was wearing a deep purple dress with a pair of black heels. The curves she hid so well under shapeless jumpers and a lab coat were now on full display, and they were surprisingly flawless. Her auburn hair fell in curls down past her shoulders, and one side of it was tucked shyly behind her ear. It was Molly at her finest.

A small, unsure smile played across her lips. She was obviously uncomfortable with all the attention. She stumbled on the last step, pitching forward, and Sherlock rushed to catch her before she fell.

He looked down at the pathologist in his arms, flustered by the intensity of her gaze and the scent of her perfume- lavender. Abruptly he set her back on her feet, looked her up and down once, and said, "For God's sake, Molly, do try to save us all from the embarrassment of your clumsiness and wear a smaller heel." He deafened himself to the audible gasps from Mary and John's outrage and walked swiftly to his bedroom, shutting the door.

**Worth it? I hope so. Reviews please!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer... Nothing is mine. **

**Wow you guys are great. And dedicated too. I really appreciate all the reviews. I hope you guys like this story. I just read through everything again, and realized how slow it is moving. Hopefully you are still with me, because there's still a lot to go. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter about how Molly feels about the whole tripping fiasco. **

**Reviews would be great**

Chapter 10

Molly's mind wandered as she stitched up the incisions she had made on the body in front of her. She kept replaying the scene from the day before in her mind, unwilling to believe that it had actually happened. Mary had been furious, and had stormed into Sherlock's room, where she had proceeded to scream at him for the better part of an hour.

She had quickly gone upstairs and changed back into her jumper, while John left for the surgery, giving her the apologetic look he reserved especially for those Sherlock had offended. Molly knew that look well; she seemed to be on the receiving end of it more than anyone else in their acquaintance.

She however, was still numb to what had happened. After all, it had been more or less what she was expecting as she had come down the stairs. Well, that wasn't the entire truth. She had expected him to not say a word, or possibly not even turn around when she had come down. She had expected to not be noticed, as Sherlock didn't need anything from her. She had expected to be ignored completely.

That is why it had surprised her so much to see him actually look at her. She had felt the intensity of his eyes on her, taking in every detail and following every curve. It had unnerved her that the man she was so used to being invisible to was for once completely and utterly focused on her. That is what had made her lose her balance. It hadn't been those stupid heels, but the feeling of, for once in her life, actually being seen.

And then when she had tripped, she hadn't expected to be caught, and especially not by Sherlock Holmes. To be in his arms, however innocent the reason, had sent shivers all over her body. Those blue eyes had locked on hers for the briefest moment, and once again she had the overwhelming feeling of being seen. It was almost too much for Molly to handle.

In less than a minute, Sherlock Holmes had managed to get all of her hopes up higher than ever before, and bring them crashing down again.

She supposed she should have expected it. It was after all, his pattern with her. Her mind turned immediately to that infamous Christmas party some years ago. She had had the same feeling then, that she was being truly, properly seen. He had then proceeded to humiliate her in front of all their friends.

It had happened with Jim as well, although she couldn't say that she wasn't grateful for being saved from that relationship. But still, he had seen her, noticed her being noticed by someone else, and had then torn her down for it.

Molly finished the sutures and sighed as she washed her hands to take her lunch break. It was fine, she thought to herself. She had a great man and an amazing life in store for herself, and Sherlock's approval didn't really fit into it. At least now she understood. It hurt, but as long as she knew the truth, she could recover.

Sherlock Holmes had observed her, and deduced her at both her worst and her best. With his incredible mind and his startlingly blue eyes, he had seen her. And he had made it quite obvious that he preferred her when she was invisible.

She grabbed her bag from her office and left, meeting Thomas for a lunch date in the park.


	11. Chapter 11

**First of all, I think that this is very important that you should all know that I wrote this chapter, Chapter 11, on the 11****th**** page of my document at 11:11 pm. What a crazy random happenstance! I was extremely excited by this. Also, this is probably one of my favorite chapters. And definitely the longest one so far. So enjoy!**

**Disclaimed.**

Chapter 11

It was 3 o'clock in the morning, and Sherlock wouldn't go to sleep. The case had been solved hours ago, but something was still plaguing him. He picked up his violin, composing a long, sad sonata as he played. He became so immersed in the music that he didn't notice the footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Well that's depressing." He looked over and saw John, sitting in his regular chair, wearing a dressing gown and rubbing sleep from his eyes. "The song, I mean. I'm guessing an original?"

He nodded curtly, and walked over to sit on the sofa. Obviously John had decided they were about to have a serious conversation, and he didn't feel like avoiding it this time. It would take far too much effort. He remained silent, however, leaving John to condone his behavior without interruption.

"Mary wanted you out of the wedding." Sherlock looked up in surprise. This was not what he had been expecting. John saw the involuntary flash of pain that crossed his best friend's face and decided to continue. "It took me two full days to convince her not to kick you out for what you said to Molly. However, as the groom, the best man is pretty much the only decision I actually get to make in this whole ordeal, so eventually she caved."

Sherlock mumbled something under his breath, too faint for John to make out. He sighed and continued, leaning forward. "Sherlock, when you left, the world changed around us. I couldn't lift myself out of bed for months, and even when I did, it seemed like the world had lost so much of its meaning. It wasn't until I met Mary that things actually started to be okay again. I understand it now, and I don't blame you, but we all went through hell without you."

He stared at Sherlock, refusing to look away even as the man refused to meet his eyes. "And poor Molly suffered the worst of it. Can you imagine what that must've done to her? Molly, with the kindest heart any of us have ever come across, having to see all of us in so much grief and not be able to do anything about it? Having to lie to us constantly and know she was causing us pain every time? Add onto that all the worry she must have been harboring for your safety, especially when the only times she would see you was when you were bleeding out on her sofa."

Sherlock squirmed under John's gaze as he continued. "Molly Hooper was the only one who could help, and she was sworn to secrecy. And she handled it with more grace than anyone I could have ever imagined. She set me and Mary up, you know. And she came over for tea with Mrs. Hudson every Wednesday. Still does, in fact. She even convinced Greg to teach her how to shoot, for God's sake. She's bloody awful, but still. She looked out for all of us. And now when she is finally happy, you go back to treating her the same way you have always treated her. You use her for experiments and body parts, but have you ever actually thanked her? She has done so much for you Sherlock. And she deserves better."

John looked at his flatmate, who had been staring at the ground for the majority of his speech, and waited for him to respond. A solid five minutes passed without a word. The silence was deafening, but the soldier stood his ground. Finally, a strangled whisper escaped Sherlock's lips. "Do you honestly think I don't know?"

He lifted his eyes to meet John's, and John was shocked by what he saw. Sherlock had removed every wall and sat before him, completely vulnerable and wracked with pain. The amount of emotion written all over his face was alarming, especially for someone who preferred to deny the existence of feeling.

Sherlock spoke, his voice cracking on every other syllable until it was strong enough to carry the weight of his emotions. "I know exactly what that was like, John. I experienced all of the pain, the grief, the sorrow that anyone else did. I lived alone, having to justify that I had done the right thing, and knowing that all the suffering any of you experienced was completely and solely my fault. I pulled apart Moriarty's web by myself, because the only people who could possibly help thought I was dead. Molly was my only comfort too. She made me tell her everything, and I trust her more than anyone can possibly know. She fixed me when I was broken."

Sherlock stood, pacing the floor as he spoke in the same way he would if he were solving a case. "I tried to tell her, John. I tried to make her see how important she is. I left her so many clues. The skull, the watch… But it's like she sees, but doesn't observe." John smiled at the use of this phrase, bringing back so many memories. Sherlock turned to face his grinning flatmate and stares at him, asking the one question that has kept him up for weeks on end. "So why am I always hurting her? Why is it that she matters so much, but whenever I am around her I resort to making her unhappy? John, what's wrong with me?"

John's grin grew even wider as he realized what was happening. He chuckled to himself, and Sherlock was instantly infuriated. Sherlock came close and grabbed his flatmate by the shoulders, all but shaking him."What? What can possibly be so funny at a time such as this? John, what is it?"

The doctor looked straight up at the detective and made his diagnosis. "Sherlock Holmes, I do believe you are in love."


	12. Chapter 12

**Wow. I was overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter. You guys are fantastic. In every single way. Unfortunately, things aren't quite perfect for our lovebirds just yet. With these two when is anything quite the way it should be? I hope you like this chapter. **

**Owner of nothing, and extremely grateful for it. **

Chapter 12

Molly woke up about an hour too early. She looked over to her right and was pleasantly surprised to see Thomas lying next to her. She had forgotten that he had spent the night, both of them crashing after having finished a Lord of the Rings marathon. For so long, even the idea of his sleeping over was taboo, because there was always the possibility of Sherlock walking in and needing a kidney transplant or something. There were definitely some perks to his being alive again, she decided.

She walked out to the kitchen and searched the fridge. Once again, it was basically bare. Guess that cereal would just have to do, she thought, reaching to grab a box from the top of the fridge. However, she had pulled down something else instead.

She stared at the box of knick knacks that Sherlock had left behind. It had slipped her mind quite a bit recently, getting lost in all the excitement that had been happening. She supposed she ought to give it back, now that everything was over and done. Funny, it seemed so long ago that she had been cleaning up after him. In reality, it had only been a matter of weeks.

She looked through the box one last time, laughing again at the randomness of the items inside of it. What significance could the plastic rose and the tacky keychain possibly have to the brilliant Sherlock Holmes? She couldn't even imagine why the insulting detective would have left these things at her flat. They seemed so unlike him, and yet with Sherlock you never really knew what to expect. He was full of surprises, not all of them good, but he always kept you on your toes.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a voice. "Do you love him?" She looked up to see Thomas standing a few feet away with a pained look on his face. She started to respond, but he didn't let her.

"Don't deny this, Molly. I know what that box is. I know why you light up when you see what is inside it. People don't normally get that look from a box of cheap trinkets unless they mean something to them. I may not be the world's only consulting detective, but I know that much."

Molly looked at him in shock. How many times had she heard this speech before? She knew what came next, and yet she tried her hardest to fight it. This couldn't happen. Not with him. "Thomas, this isn't anything. It's just a box of stuff he left behind, it doesn't mean anything. I love you. I love you so much."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know that, Molly. Really, I do. But it's not enough, is it? Believe me, I wish it was. More than anything in the world. But I am not him, and I will never be anything like him. I don't want to have to share your heart. We both deserve better than that."

Molly couldn't believe what was happening. Tears were falling fast from her eyes and she kept protesting as she watched him pull the engagement ring off of her finger. He pressed it into her palm. "Molly you know that this is the right thing to do. I love you so much, and I wish I could be everything you want. But I can't make you happy, not enough. So let me go."

Thomas kissed her softly, tasting the tears on her lips. It was heartbreaking to see her like this. But he had to be strong. Thomas had to do the best thing for both of them. Eventually she would be happy again, and wasn't that what really mattered? He turned, grabbed his jacket, and walked quickly out of Molly Hooper's life, blinking back the tears that threatened his own vision as he hailed a cab.


	13. Chapter 13

**Ugh... Stupid Sherlock making me break Molly's heart again last chapter. If I didn't love him so much, I would honestly hate him right now. But anyway. Thanks for reading! Would love to hear what you have to say.**

**DIsclaimer: This has been disclaimed. **

Chapter 13

It took 3 days for Sherlock to work up the courage to show up at the morgue. John had insisted that he go alone, and the prospect of facing Molly without his blogger and expert on sentiment to guide him was daunting to say the least. Sherlock didn't quite know what to do.

He had decided that he would go under the premise of checking on one of his experiments, and hopefully at some point during their day together, things would just fall into place. He would tell Molly about the changes in how he felt, and she tell him that she reciprocated said feelings, and there would be a kiss or two before everything became what it should always have been- He and Molly, together.

It wasn't his best plan, nor did he think it would work. The odds were stacked against him, with 68% of the plausible outcomes he could envision ending negatively for him. She was, after all, engaged to another person, whom she loved, and he treated her far better than Sherlock ever could. Add into that the way that he had treated her in the past, and his prospects looked even bleaker. But in John's ever so eloquent words, if there was a snowman's shot in hell of his winning the pathologist, he damn well better give it his all. Apparently, that was part of what being in love means.

He entered the morgue, rehearsing the rules of courtship as John had explained them to him in his mind. He had planned to compliment her as soon as he walked in, possibly about her hair or her choice of lipstick. John had stressed the importance of the compliment being sincere, so he would just have to wait and see with that one.

He walked up to his pathologist, who was standing over a 37 year old male, performing his autopsy. A heart attack obviously. So dull. He took a deep breath, and plunged into "the plan".

"Ah, Molly, beautiful morning for an autopsy, isn't it? You look…" He stopped as she turned around. Molly looked terrible. Tear stains had streaked her makeup, and mascara was running down her cheeks. Her hair was disheveled and her clothes wrinkled. But the overwhelming sadness in her eyes was what caught Sherlock's attention most. She looked… broken.

"Sherlock, you can stop there with the fake compliments. Honestly, aren't we past all that? Or did you forget that we are actually friends here? Friends don't lie to each other just to get what they want. You can have anything you want, just stop it with the compliments, all right?"

He just nodded, too shocked to respond immediately. Aside from the obvious tears she was trying to hold back, there was something different about her that he couldn't quite figure out. Then he seemed to collect himself enough to realize she was probably wondering why he was there. "Experiments." She nodded, and helped him pull out the materials he had been using to test red blood cell decay in varying conditions over time.

They worked in silence for a few hours, Sherlock too nervous to say anything, and Molly too upset to care. It wasn't until he saw her wash up to leave for lunch that he realized what was different about her- she wasn't wearing her engagement ring. Sherlock got up and left, not even saying goodbye. He had some research to do.


	14. Chapter 14

**Do you need fluff? I need fluff. So here is some fluff. Also, I have been hinting at something for a while now that will be coming into play really soon, so keep your eyes peeled for the foreshadowing. **

**Just to clear something up, Molly really did love Thomas. He was really good for her. The problem for Molly is that one person can be absolutely perfect for you, but if they aren't who you want, then you can't ever be completely happy with them. Sad, but true in my experience. **

**Disclaimer: I completely and totally own all of Sherlock, as well as the classic 80s film mentioned in this chapter. MESSAGE ALERT: WRONG!**

**Enjoy your fluff! Review for me please!**

Chapter 14

At the end of the day, Molly was ready to go home. She had performed four autopsies that day, and one of them had been a victim of the deranged serial killer who burned a mark into his victim's neck before he killed them. That had been one of Sherlock's cases, and although he had been there the entire morning, he had left without coming back before the body came in. Of course the only time he was actually supposed to be in her lab was the one time he didn't show up. That figures.

She couldn't wait to get home and crash on her bed, although it was still quite early. She had lost all her energy lately. She just didn't want to do much of anything since Thomas had left. He had been the one constant in her life, and now without him, she didn't quite know where to turn. Her heart was trying desperately to heal, but it was to no avail.

She walked up the two flights and into her flat completely immersed in her thoughts as she placed her bag on the counter. And so it scared her when she turned around to see the dark, lurking, skinny figure lying on her couch.

"Sherlock! What the hell are you doing here? Inside my flat, without my permission, at night. What is going on?" She said, still out of breath from the shock. She had definitely not been expecting this tonight, especially after he had barely even spoken to her today. She supposed that she deserved the silence, although she didn't regret what she had said.

She wasn't going to be his doormat anymore. Things needed to change between the consulting detective and his pathologist, and Molly was going to make sure the changes happened.

He stood up, and came up to her. He pulled her into him, in one of the most awkward hugs she had ever experienced, whispering "It's all right" in her ear. Apparently, he could feel the tension too, because after only a few seconds he let go. She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him as he returned to the sofa, but remained silent, awaiting an explanation.

The detective seemed uncomfortable under her gaze, and finally answered her original question. " I didn't know what I was supposed to do in this situation, and as I have never gone through it myself, I decided to do some research. According to Angelo, a warm embrace and soothing words were supposed to do the trick." He ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, seeming almost nervous and definitely frustrated. "I obviously will not be going to him for this sort of question ever again."

Molly still didn't understand, until she saw the assortment of things sitting on her table. There was Chinese takeaway from her favorite restaurant, along with a tub of cookie dough ice cream. There was a loaded pistol (that one worried her a bit) and a bag full of face masks and other spa supplies, four puzzles, a massive box pack of beer, and a copy of _Dirty Dancing_. Finally the pieces started to click together.

She looked up at the man, incredulous but amused. "Sherlock, are... is this you trying to help me get over a breakup?"

He looked sheepishly down at the carpet and didn't answer for a few moments. "Your… your hair wasn't combed. Your mascara was smeared, and you weren't wearing your ring. I deduced what had happened, and I… You have done so much for me, Molly, and I have mistreated you. I just wanted to help."

Molly was stunned by this declaration. Had Sherlock just apologized? The words hadn't actually been said, but with Sherlock when was anything ever exactly the way it should be? And he was sitting in her flat, trying to make it up to her.

She couldn't help but grin as she walked slowly around the table, looking at the different cures he had found for her broken heart. "The gun?"

Sherlock smiled and walked over to the table. "Lestrade. Whenever his wife left, he would go to the shooting range and practice for hours, after which he goes to the bar. Hence the beer, but I've noticed that sometimes John does this as well. Mrs. Hudson swears by Chinese food and board games, but according to John, I am not allowed to play board games anymore, so the puzzles will have to do instead. And the ice cream, spa supplies, and film…"

"Mary". Molly smiled, reminiscing about her best friend and all the heartbreaks the two of them had gone through together. "we always watch _Dirty Dancing_ after a breakup."

She launched directly into the story, more for herself than for Sherlock's benefit. "When we were at Uni, she had a boyfriend who had this habit where he would always quote the most famous line of the movie, 'Nobody puts Baby in the corner' and then he would grab her and swing her around while she laughed. We used to think it was so romantic. After they split, this film was the only thing she wanted to see. So we watched it three times, and by the time we finally finished, we couldn't stop laughing. We got to the 'Nobody puts Baby in a corner' line, but the thing is that she isn't really in a corner at all, just up against a sitting at a table up against a pillar. That line is so over the top dramatic, and it just made us realize how dumb it was to cry over him. We kept laughing and laughing until eventually her heart wasn't broken anymore."

Sherlock smiled as Molly disappeared into this memory. It was such a visible moment of human sentiment, but on Molly it didn't seem as bad as he usually thought. She was always surprising him, which was not something that he had ever expected the mousy pathologist to be capable of. He took the video over to the television and pressed play.

**Yes, I did just pull Dirty Dancing into this. I am not ashamed. I love the film, but that line has always struck me as funny rather than romantic. And I can totally see Molly loving it too. I think that Sherlock has a much bigger heart than he ever shows, but he just doesn't get how to do certain things. So of course he would have to do his research. I love this scene, whether it is OOC or not, but I would love to hear different opinions. So reviews, please!**


	15. Chapter 15

**I really hope you liked the last chapter, because this is basically just a continuation from where it left off. Thanks so much for all the support guys... you really are amazing.**

**Disclaimer: really?**

Chapter 15

Molly was amazed that this was happening, but somehow it seemed so right. Sitting on the floor, leaned up against the couch, listening to him deduce the movie as she solved the puzzles, her mask cracking on her face. They had been eating on and off throughout the night, but in trying to do this right, Sherlock had brought way too much food, and the majority ended up being put in the refrigerator.

They did work their way through the beer, however. Molly decided that they would save the pistol for another time.

Molly left for a minute to wash the clay off her face at the end of the film. It was stubborn, not wanting to leave her skin. As she scrubbed her face raw, she could hear Sherlock had gone back in the movie and was watching the final dance scene again.

She went to her room and changed her regular clothes to a tank top and shorts. In that time, he had watched the scene another time. She smirked to herself. He had been making fun of the movie all night, and now he couldn't stop watching.

Coming back out, she was pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock sitting close to the screen, mesmerized by the dancing in front of him. She took a minute to appreciate the way his curls framed his face, and the beautiful look he got on his face whenever he was fascinated by something.

He spoke without looking away. "Dance with me." Molly sputtered, refusing suddenly and vehemently, and he smiled. "Dance with me, Molly Hooper. It is a form of exercise. The exercise will release endorphins and adrenaline in your body, which will cause your mood to be ella... el...elevated." He frowned, the alcohol causing him to stumble over the word He pressed on, however."Seeing as how that is the entire purpose of this night, I see no reason why you can refuse."

He came up to her and pulled her close despite her protestations, and suddenly they were dancing. They spun and bent, at first trying to copy the moves on the screen, but finally giving up for a slow, simple sway. Back and forth, back and forth- neither of them noticed when the music stopped.

He had pulled her in slowly until she was tight against his body. His breathing was ragged and she could feel it against her skin. His heartbeat was pounding underneath her hands as they rested on his chest, and for that moment all that mattered was the feeling of his arms around her.

But they knew it couldn't last. Eventually they broke apart, and to some degree, Molly was glad. Her mind was spinning in so many different directions, and she didn't know what she felt anymore. The buzz from the alcohol certainly wasn't helping. She tried to collect her thoughts as she looked at Sherlock. It was obvious that the dancing was over.

She needed to focus on something other than the man in front of her. Otherwise tonight was going to turn into a glorious mistake: a mistake that, no matter how much Molly wanted to make it, would still be wrong.

Behind him, Molly could see the fridge. She walked past him and grabbed the box of trinkets with his name on it, and brought it back, handing it to him. He took it, looking confused... and possibly hurt? Molly didn't know what to think anymore.

,She spoke as he opened it and rummaged through the things inside. "Here are all of those things that you left here when you stayed here after the fall. I used to spend a lot of time looking through it, but Thomas said…"

Molly frowned, not sure where that sentence had been going. She tried a different approach. "Take them home with you. I don't want to keep them here anymore." There, that sentence made more sense. She was much more drunk than she realized if she couldn't form a coherent thought. She decided that she should probably go to bed.

Sherlock heard his dismissal. He pulled his coat on and gingerly took the box again in his arms. She hoped that he would be able to find a cab soon. She definitely didn't trust an inebriated Sherlock Holmes on the streets of London. He came up to her and looked her deeply in the eye, and then leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight, Molly Hooper." Then he turned and walked out the door, his overcoat blowing in the wind.

**PS: I don't drink, nor do I normally hang around people who do drink a lot. So if they don't sound like they have had a few, I am sorry. I don't like to write about things I don't know, but sometimes the story writes itself, and I don't really have a say in where it goes. Review for me please... It really does make my day. **


	16. Chapter 16

**I loved these reviews from last update. Its great to know that people are reading this and liking it. So keep the reviews coming! **

**I hope that you like this one. I really like seeing a more vulnerable side of Sherlock, and I love writing John, so I am really hoping that you enjoy it too. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I wouldn't have it any other way. **

Chapter 16

Sherlock groaned as the light hit his face, hurting his eyes. The alcohol had been a mistake, he thought. If this was the hell Lestrade put himself through every time his wife had cheated, he was in awe that the Detective Inspector still actually had a career.

He decided he would never doubt Lestrade again. Obviously a man who could handle this on a fairly regular basis was strong enough for anything that Sherlock could possibly throw at him.

John smirked at his flatmate who was curled up on the sofa. He closed the blinds and placed a morning after concoction on the table, throwing a spare blanket at the moaning form. He couldn't stop himself from chuckling quietly to himself.

Sherlock had always had an extremely low tolerance for alcohol, and for pain in general. It was something that John had always been amused by about the man. Brilliant, superior, and mysterious, yes, but give him two beers and he turned into a 6 year old with a toothache.

"So... " he said quietly when his flatmate finally turned towards him, an amused look on his face. "How did it go?"

Sherlock moaned again at the sound of his voice, although this time John could feel the frustration mixed in with the pain. "I still don't understand. She isn't engaged anymore, and all night she was laughing and seemed to be enjoying herself. We were drunk, both of us, and her more than I. And I pulled her in, and we danced for what seemed like hours. She was so close, and all I wanted was to feel her lips against mine, to be even closer. But then…"

It was a few moments before he spoke again, and this time it came out in a ragged whisper. "..then she pulled away. And it ripped me apart, it physically caused me pain to feel her leave. She came back with this in her hands," he gestured to the box in front of him, which John took and started looking inside, "and said something about Thomas, and it was all that I could do to take it from her. John, I don't know what to do."

It wasn't a cry for help. Sherlock really didn't need advice now anyway, and he definitely wasn't asking for any. He had seen this happen too many times before, and had even been through it himself a few times, but with Sherlock it was different.

Sherlock was having enough trouble coping with all this newly discovered emotion, and adding new data before he could process it would only make things worse. No, it wasn't a time for words at all.

John put down the box, not making any effort to understand what the random items meant, or why they had been the final touch that had broken Sherlock's heart. It didn't matter now anyway.

John sat next to his best friend and turned on the television, letting the white noise of the news fill the empty space until it drowned out Sherlock's thoughts completely.


	17. Chapter 17

**And here we go again... I think I will do a three chapter update this time, instead of the usual two. How does that sound? Sounds like a great idea to me. And this one is longer, too. Woohoo! Here is where stuff starts going kinda crazy, so bear with me. As always, I would love it if you could shoot me a review. **

**Disclaimed.**

Chapter 17

It had been three days since a drunken Sherlock had left her flat, and Molly was still having trouble believing that it had actually happened. But she couldn't have imagined it. There were the cans in her recycle bin, the food left over in her fridge, the film sitting on top of her television.

But the biggest change was that the box was gone from the top of her fridge. Her kitchen was noticeably quieter without the ticking pocket watch, a silence that had become disturbing quite quickly. After having sat through only two meals in the newfound silence, Molly had caved, buying the first tacky clock she had come across. It was much louder than the watch had been, but for some reason it still couldn't quite fill the void.

Molly shook her head. She needed to get out more often. Staring at dead bodies and mind numbing paperwork all day gave her far too much time to think.

She started from her thoughts and turned back to her paperwork, jumping as the man himself strode into the morgue. He was followed closely by John and Greg Lestrade.

The case, then. She went over to one of the cupboards and pulled her out, a 32 year old female who had been found covered by a tiny sheet and nothing else.

"Cause of death, asphyxiation, approximately 48 hours ago. Found naked with the same symbol burned into her neck as the victim last week in the lake." She moved the woman's long brown hair, revealing the character. Someone was signing their work, making sure to get the credit. It made her sick to see the enjoyment that someone had obviously taken from making the mark.

Sherlock, however, had no such aversion. He smiled almost gleefully as he inspected the handiwork, a triangle stacked on top of a cross. The murderer had slipped up now in continuing the pattern, and it would cost him dearly.

Each of the victims so far, all petite younger women who lived alone, had been killed in a different manner, but the mark was the same.

One body had been slashed to pieces. One had been forced to ingest caustic agents that had burned her from the inside out. The next had been drowned, her body left in the lake for a week before coming their attention. And now a suffocation. All different, but with the same pattern. Each had been found completely naked, and with the mark burned somewhere onto her skin.

"Ah, brilliant, an unharmed victim. He's finally slipped, killing her like this. The evidence was destroyed in all the others, but not her. Oh this is good. This is very good. Molly…" He stopped when he saw the look of unabashed horror on her face, followed quickly by anger.

He backed away quickly, running into one of the tables, but he couldn't escape her shouting.

"Sherlock Holmes you insensitive GIT! 4 women have been murdered, and one of them was pregnant with twins, not that she ever lived long enough to tell anyone. No, the only person on earth who knows is me, the woman who did her autopsy last week. That's 6 lives, 6 futures, ripped out of the world by a psychopath, and you are_ excited_? You have no idea who these women were, and you don't even care."

She was positively fuming now, her face bright red, with tears streaming down it, but she kept shouting. She came towards him, gasping for air as she ranted. She had snapped at last, and was screaming at him, but she didn't care. She was finally having her say, and she was far from being finished.

"And that isn't even all. There was a rare sense enhancing drug in this woman's system, and adhesive residue on her mouth. She was violently raped and that mark was burned into her skin while she was _still alive_, and then strangled to death in drug made her hypersensitive to every touch and all the pain to levels you can't even begin to understand, and the whole time her mouth was taped shut so she couldn't even scream. And here you are, using her death so you can get off on the adrenaline rush of chasing a madman. Don't you dare come into my morgue and treat my patients as pieces in your stupid game, you heartless BASTARD!"

Molly had cornered him now, tears clouding her vision as she screamed at the shocked detective. She pounded her tiny fists against his chest as she ranted, but once the words were finished, she collapsed against him, overcome with exhaustion.

Sherlock looked at the two other men in the room, unsure what to do, and gingerly placed his arms around her. She held him even tighter, making it practically impossible for him to move, her sobs shaking against him.

After several minutes, the pathologist calmed down somewhat. John had disappeared, and when he returned he brought a fresh cup of tea and gently pried her off of Sherlock, who was white with shock and still seemed too stunned to move. She sat down and sipped her tea as the doctor spoke in a soothing voice, calming her even more.

She started to be embarrassed, but decided against it. It wouldn't have changed anything, seeing as the detective wasn't even there anymore.

After being released from her, Sherlock had quickly walked over to the body again and sifted through the personal belongings that had been found in a discarded backpack alongside the victim. Suddenly he disappeared, only stopping to murmur something to Lestrade, who had nodded in response, before he left.

She sighed, and decided that the only way she could fix this train wreck was to go home and unwind with a bottle of wine and a hot bath. She could deal with the already tangible consequences of their latest interaction later.

John seemed to approve of this, and escorted her out to a waiting cab, stopping only to explain to her boss that Molly had taken ill and would be taking the rest of the day off. She could hardly stay awake the entire way home, exhausted as she was from so many emotions.

She shivered as she walked in the door after finally arriving at her flat. The room was much colder than it usually was this time of day, but maybe she had left the window open. Yes, that was it. She remembered having burnt her supper the night before and opening the window in the front room. It was a bit wider than she remembered though…

She was distracted by the constant, quiet buzzing in the room. After a bit of investigation, Molly discovered the source. Apparently, the cable had been turned off, but the actual television itself hadn't. That was strange but she shook it off. Toby did have a habit of playing with the remote control, after all. She walked into the kitchen, Toby flitting in between her legs, to get that well earned wine.

**I kinda like angry Molly, although I'm not quite sure she's in character or not. Let me know what you think!**


	18. Chapter 18

**...And rounding out our three-chapter-update comes Chapter 18. After the longest chapter, ironically this is the shortest. But a lot happens, so hopefully that's okay. **

**Disclaimed.**

Chapter 18

Sherlock went straight back to Baker Street, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's greeting and taking the stairs to the flat 3 steps at a time. He tore through his bedroom, until at last he found what he was looking for.

He took a quick step into his mind palace, retrieving the memory of what he had seen in the victim's personal items sitting on the table in the morgue. The two objects matched almost exactly. His heart filled with dread as his suspicions were confirmed.

Just then, Lestrade called, giving him three addresses and the name of the rare drug Molly had mentioned in her ranting, just proving Sherlock's fears even more correct. The DI was speaking in the calm, unattached way that he always spoke of cases, but it was different this time.

This time the slow, measured words sounded patronizing and were only a waste of their precious little time, and it set Sherlock's blood to boil.

"Where's Molly?" Lestrade was obviously confused by the panic Sherlock couldn't control. He just kept talking, wasting time asking questions. "The murders. They were too intriguing, too perfectly executed. I should have seen that this was a_ trap_." He practically shouted over the phone, finally stunning the DI into silence.

It only lasted a moment though. Then his friend's voice changed, suddenly quiet and filled with a dreadful anticipation. "Sherlock, what is it? What is going on?"

The change in Lestrade's tone had a calming effect on Sherlock. He ran a frantic hand through his hair as he was finally able to explain. "The murders are focused on women of a certain profile who live in a certain area. Four murders, all within 2 blocks of Molly's flat. In fact, starting outside, and creeping closer to her. The last victim's keys were there in the morgue. They are the same type as Molly's. She lived in her building, on the farthest side from her. Molly flat is the center point. She was always his intended target."

He fumbled with Molly's spare key, the one he had taken without her knowledge so long ago, in his fingers as he spoke. "It sounds impossible, Lestrade, but trust me. If I could fake it, so could he. And no one else plays games quite like this. The burned mark on their necks. He promised he would burn the heart out of me. Of course, it makes sense now. He means her."

There was an audible gasp as Lestrade caught up. "Take John and backup and go to her flat, Lestrade. I will be there waiting. Hurry- there isn't time to lose. Jim Moriarty is back, and he's got my pathologist."

**I know I know. I tried SO HARD to keep him out of this. But somehow he just slipped in, and what can I say? He is the perfect villain for this... But tell me what you think, because I am DYING to know on this one. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimed.**

Chapter 19

Molly was awakened to the sound of laughter. A burning, hideous laugh that was far too loud, far too harsh, and far too familiar. She refused to open her eyes, wishing that this was a dream, but knowing it couldn't be. Molly only dreamed in black and white, but even with her eyes closed she could tell that this was in Technicolor.

Technicolor. The word brought back vividly her explosion at the lab earlier, when she had been so upset by Sherlock's excitement at Anna's death. She hadn't been close to the woman who lived in her building, but she had always been very kind and didn't deserve what had happened to her.

The fate, Molly realized with a sick feeling in her stomach, that she was about to share.

She opened her eyes at last, knowing that it wouldn't do her any good to panic. She was handcuffed to a chair in the middle of an empty room. She looked down at the antecubital space of her arm, seeing a few drops of blood pooled there, and confirming what she already knew- the hyper sensitivity drug had already been injected.

Her senses were heightened in every way, to maximize her suffering, but Molly decided she would use this to her advantage. She took note of everything around her and racked her brain to figure everything out. There was the sound of trains in the background, the smell of paint, and the faint scent of phosphorus underneath it. She stowed this knowledge away, praying that she would get a chance to use it somehow.

"Oh good, you're awake." She saw him coming toward her, the man who should be dead. Obviously, that term was starting to mean less and less in her life. Jim Moriarty reached his hand down and caressed her cheek. "Molly, love," he said, "Long time, no see."

He slapped her hard, causing Molly to gasp in pain. "I must admit, I am surprised. Who would've thought that mousy Molly Hooper" he emphasized the last three words each with a hard pinch, "would be the one who holds his heart? Certainly not I. I never took him for a man who would be willing to take my _seconds."_

He hissed the last word in her ear, his breath causing her to shudder as it inched across her skin.

Just then, his phone rang. He walked a few steps away, lighting a cigarette as he answered. "Hello, dear. Got my message then?... Oh, no I don't think I will do that. We are just having so much fun here."

The look in his eyes made her sick as he came closer again "I'm a bit disappointed in you though. We all know you could have done so much _better._ Isn't that right, Molly?" He held the phone to her face and pressed the lit end of the cigarette into the skin on the back of her neck, making her scream.

But Molly had been expecting this. She realized what he would do a split second before it happened and decided it would be her only chance to speak to the detective, so she gave him the only clues she could. Her scream came but through her agony she knew she only had one shot. Panting into the cellular she gasped, "Trains. Phosphorus. Paint. Sherlock, help. Please" before it was wrenched away from her.

Moriarty pulled the phone away quickly, surprised by the pathologist's actions. "Well, you've trained your little pet well, haven't you? You'd better hurry, Sherlock. She may not have broken down yet, but she will. And soon there will be nothing left of your dear pathologist but ashes." He hung up quickly, then turned to the woman sitting in front of him.

"Clever little Molly Hooper. That was very brave of you, but you forget who you're dealing with. You never INTERRUPT ME!" He yelled, yanking a handful of her hair and causing her to whimper. He grabbed the fabric of her shirt and ripped it, exposing her back to him. "I think it may be time to teach you some manners." He said it quietly, as he pushed the lit cigarette into her skin again.

**to all of you who told me not to hurt her... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But there was a reason for the rating, and this part is it. Trust me on this one. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Another pretty intense chapter, guys. It takes place at the same time as the last one, but on Sherlock's end. Shoot me a review and let me know what you think. **

Chapter 20

Sherlock stood in Molly's flat and gaped at the wall, his worst fears being confirmed. The letter covered the wall, followed by a phone number, all in a dripping, sickeningly familiar yellow paint. The same exact yellow paint that adorned his own flat in a smiling face now sent a shiver of fear through Sherlock's body.

Everything about this was personalized to him, and Moriarty's message was clear. It would all be his fault. Every mark, bruise, or injury on Molly would be as much his doing as if he had actually made them himself. Sherlock had to pull his eyes away, making deductions to distract himself as a cold bead of sweat ran across his forehead.

A bottle of wine lay smashed on the floor of the kitchen, and the signs of a struggle were evident throughout the flat. Sherlock took this to mean that she was still alive, at least she had been a few hours before. Deciding that there wasn't any time to waste, he pulled out his phone and dialed the number painted on the wall, putting it on speaker.

"Let her go." He wasn't in the mood for any of Moriarty's false pleasantries. The madman only laughed at the suggestion, and started to taunt Sherlock, as well as insult Molly. That was when he heard her.

Her scream pierced the room, causing John and Lestrade to wince and Sherlock's heart to break once again. She was gasping into the phone now. "Trains. Phosphorus. Paint. Sherlock, help. Please."

Moriarty's voice returned, speaking for 30 seconds or so before a click signaled the end of the call. Silence filled the flat for a moment before John tentatively broke it. "Sherlock? What did she mean, phosphorus? What was that?"

Sherlock looked around at his flatmate. "They were clues, John. Clues to where she is." He quickly ran through the files of information in his mind, and found the only possible solution, a match factory that had been under repairs on the other side of London.

A small smile reached his lips, although it brought no amusement with it. He was quite impressed by his pathologist, who had been able to give him all the information he needed even while being tortured. She was so much stronger, so much smarter, so much better than anyone realized, and he was once again reminded of how much he loved her for it.

They wasted no time getting into Lestrade's car and speeding toward the factory. All three of the men were extremely quiet. It was one thing to know someone you care about was being hurt, but to actually hear the scream of her being tortured was a profound and disturbing experience for all of them. It wasn't something that any of them would ever forget, and it would haunt each of them far into the future.

As they sped off towards their destination, Sherlock fingered the gun he had taken from one of the dangerously oblivious officers in the flat. The sentiment had filled his mind completely and he could barely contain his anger at the thought of Moriarty's hands on her, touching her, violating her, hurting her.

Only one thought kept him going. _I'm coming, Molly Hooper. I'm coming._


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: this is disclaimed. **

**Okay guys. One chapter, every day, from now on. Deal? Deal. I would love some reviews for this, even though I think most of you are kind of mad at me right now. But just trust me, alright? I got this.**

Chapter 21

Molly couldn't scream anymore. Her voice had turned into a husky whisper as Moriarty had burned his symbol into her skin. She felt it throbbing on her back, starting at the base of her neck and stretching downward, much bigger than that on the bodies of the other victims.

She could feel bruises down her back and arms from where he had hit her, and blood flowing down her back from where his fingernails had dug into her skin. Her clothes had been ripped to shreds, barely concealing anything anymore. Every mark on her hurt three times more than it should, thanks to the drug in her system. Molly was at her edge.

And yet, it wasn't over. She had done the autopsies, so she knew what came next.

Moriarty laughed harshly as he read her thoughts on her face. "Oh no, Molly Hooper. Don't for one minute think that I would ever want to experience that again. Going through it as Jim from IT was bad enough, and I would never put myself through that kind of _torture_ again. Don't you understand? I don't want you. He doesn't want you. No one will ever want you, because you are NOTHING."

He grabbed her wrist and twisted on the last word, breaking it as Molly gasped in pain. The pain receptors in her brain worked in overtime, and Molly had to force the tears not to come from her eyes. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She held to this one act of defiance with all she had left as he continued speaking, his words oily and menacing.

"Think about it, dear. He told you everything, he used you only when he couldn't see anybody else. You have always been a last resort for him, no matter what he may have said. He uses you and never thinks a thing about it. You don't matter to him, or to anyone else. Sherlock Holmes is coming because he can't resist the game, not because of you. You just don't count, Molly…"

He raised a hand to slap her again across the scratch marks on her face, but the hand never landed. Instead, Molly heard 3 painfully loud gunshots, and watched as the bullets hit him. Two in the chest, and one through the forehead. She felt sick as she watched him crumple to the ground, lying absolutely still.

She saw them then, John to the left, Lestrade on the right, and Sherlock in the middle, each holding an outstretched weapon. It started to make sense- 3 distinct shots from 3 separate guns.

John and Lestrade looked stunned, as if they had only just realized what they had done, but Sherlock looked as if he knew quite well what had just happened. There was not an ounce of remorse in his eyes as they locked on Molly's. He was done playing Moriarty's game, and a grim look passed over his features as he came to her.

His eyes assessed the damage done to her quickly, and turned hard for a moment at the sight of all the pain she had been through. Then, he suddenly picked her up, carefully avoiding her injuries as much as possible, and cradled her into his chest as he breathed out her name in relief.

They sat there for what seemed like hours, saying nothing as they waited for the ambulance. Lestrade's backup, which had arrived far too late to do any good, took away the body and taped off the crime scene around them, causing quite a bit of commotion. But Sherlock and Molly never moved.

Eventually the ambulance arrived, for Molly. Sherlock carried her over and lay her gently on the stretcher, and then climbed into the vehicle as well, never letting go of her hand. He waited as the doctors poked and prodded her, and it was only then when he saw how much damage had actually been done. Once everything had been treated and the doctors left, Sherlock walked up to her hospital bed and gathered her in his arms again.

Finally feeling safe, Molly allowed herself to let go of the tears that she had been holding in for hours, sobbing in Sherlock's arms for the second time in that incredibly long, hard day. He said nothing, simply holding her until she finally fell asleep to the sound of beeping machines.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I don't own, you know that.**

**I'm loving the support that this story has gotten. You guys have been fantastic. I love reading your reviews. They really do bring a huge smile to my face whenever I see them. So leave more of them please! **

Chapter 22

Molly awoke screaming. She could still feel his fingers digging into her, the flame burning her skin. The dreams were far more intense than any she had ever had before- they felt so real. The doctors had told her that she would probably have some Post Traumatic Stress, but she hadn't realized just how bad it was going to be.

She looked around for a while until she remembered where she was. She had been staying at 221B for the last few days after being released from the hospital, so that her flat could be repaired from the break-in and John could keep an eye on her and her injuries. She could feel them, tingling after the dream, and knew that the scars would always be there to remind her of that hell.

Sherlock came into the room, a panicked look on his face. "Molly? Molly is everything alright?" He sat down next to her on what was usually his bed and stared at her. She didn't answer him, almost ashamed that he had caught her in a nightmare.

His voice got lower, and he said quietly, "It's the dream again, isn't it." It was not a question, and Molly wasn't sure she would have been able to answer if it had been.

She sighed, looking anywhere but at him, and answered in a meek voice. "He is always there, every time that I close my eyes. I can hear his laugh and feel his breath on my skin, and… Sherlock, it is just so real. I just don't know what to do, and I am not sure that I can take it for much longer."

He nodded once to show that he understood. "It is completely normal to experience nightmares after a traumatic event over the course of recovery" he said, sounding like a textbook on PTSD. "John experienced a similar situation after returning from Afghanistan, although I believe that yours may be worse." Molly grinned wryly as her morbid sense of humor acted up, telling her that at least she finally won at something.

"The things you went through that night were more than enough for you to have these nightmares already. However, with the hypersensitivity stimulant that was running through your system at the time, the experiences were heightened and far more upsetting, so it is understandable that your nightmares seem to be more realistic as well. The nightmares will be worse, because the experience was much more intense."

Molly frowned. Logically, she already knew all of this. It only made sense that this would be happening, but that didn't make it any less disturbing. She didn't know how long this would last. Sherlock was making it sound as though it was a temporary thing, but somehow Molly doubted that. She had a sneaking suspicion that the nightmares, although they might get less frequent, would never completely go away. She wasn't sure if she could handle it, but she had no choice but to find out.

Sherlock watched as the different thoughts raced through her mind, intrigued by the fleeting expression each one made on her face. Finally she shook her head. She got out of the bed, walked to the kitchen and put on the kettle, making enough for two mugs of tea.

They sat on the couch and in silence, until Sherlock broke it. "Molly, I'm… I'm sorry. This is all my fault." She turned and looked at him, surprised, but he couldn't look at her. He ran his fingers lightly over the bandages on her broken wrist. "He used you to get to me, he tortured you, and even now he is still hurting you through your dreams. All this is because of me. Everything is my fault, and I..."

"Sherlock, stop." She interrupted him sharply, and he looked into her eyes, surprised by the steel hidden in the tenderness there. In this moment, she was breathtaking.

She continued, holding his gaze. "What happened was because of you, but that doesn't make it your fault. It was a reasonable assumption that, after all we have been through these last few years, we would have gotten closer. And although he overestimated the extent of that closeness, Moriarty knew that you cared about me. If it hadn't been me, it would've been John or someone else again. But none of that matters now."

She grabbed his wrists as he tried to turn away from her. She couldn't let him do this to himself. "At the end of it all, I am still here and so are you. This is all in the past, and we can either let it overcome and define us, or we can move forward and be strengthened by it. I am choosing the second option, Sherlock. And I expect you to do the same."

He couldn't speak, his voice trapped inside of him by her words. Slowly, uncertainly he nodded, amazed again by the woman sitting next to him. She should have been broken by the experience, and yet she refused to be. Here she was, taking care of him just like she always had. Molly Hooper was indeed a very incredible woman.

After a few minutes, she asked him a question, bringing them back into an easy, meaningless sat together and talked about nothing and everything for a little over an hour, until Sherlock looked down and saw that she had fallen asleep next to him and her head had fallen onto his shoulder. She looked so peaceful in that moment, and Sherlock couldn't stop himself from thinking how perfect this was.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her and loved the way that her body was leaned against his. So trusting, he thought, and smiled a bit at this realization. Molly trusted him, and she didn't have nightmares when he was around. He readjusted himself on the couch carefully, lying down in a comfortable position without waking her up.

As he fell asleep, he thought how much he wanted this to last forever, his heart beating in time with hers and their breathing in unison.

In the morning, John came down the stairs to make his coffee before leaving for work. He stopped when he saw the consulting detective and his pathologist asleep together on the couch. Molly was lying with her head on Sherlock's chest and Sherlock had wrapped one arm around her, the other buried deep in her hair. They both looked at peace, which was something that neither had been in weeks. John smiled at this unconscious display of affection, and then took his coffee quietly upstairs, feeling no need to disturb them just yet.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: It's not mine. But oh, if it was... this part would totally be canon. **

Chapter 23

Molly was secretly glad that the wedding had been postponed a month. She had protested in the hospital that, what with all the months of planning that had already gone into it, of course the big day must go on.

But Mary had insisted, saying that there was no way she was going to have Molly covered in bruises and bandages on her wedding day. "Think of the pictures!" she had said, her eyes giving away the genuine concern that she had for her best friend.

So Molly had smiled and let herself be defeated, and now she was glad of it. She felt truly beautiful in her deep purple dress, perfectly curled hair, and sparkling shoes (flats, of course. Sherlock was right in one respect, and she did not want to ruin her best friend's wedding by falling on her face). It was time.

She stepped out into the aisle, walking in time to the music. She felt everyone's gaze on her, something that usually made her uncomfortable, but not tonight. Molly was a new woman, and tonight she deserved to feel beautiful.

Only one person's stare made her blush. Sherlock stood next to John at the altar, looking much as he always did in a black suit and a deep purple shirt that Mary had picked out, much like the one that had always been Molly's favorite. Which Mary knew, of course. Good Lord, that woman had thought of everything.

She could still feel his eyes on her as she took her place across from him. She raised her head, meeting his gaze head on, almost defiantly. She refused to let him hurt her tonight. Their stares intensified until the music changed, and they both pulled away to look down the aisle.

Mary looked incredible. Her gown perfectly described her and her personality, as well as fitting her so well it looked like it had been sewn onto her body. Her nerves were evidently written all over her face, but although it was a rare emotion for her, in Molly's opinion it made her all the more beautiful.

She walked slowly, almost shyly towards them, and Molly couldn't help but grin at John's expression. He was enamored of her, and the absolute adoration he had for his bride was written all over his face. The two were made for each other, and it showed.

When Mary arrived at the altar, it seemed that John couldn't wait any longer. He forgot the fact that they were standing in front of over 200 people. He didn't care that the wedding ceremony wasn't even finished. John was a creature of impulse, and at this moment he couldn't contain it. He grabbed his bride's face, kissing her deeply, passionately, and all together too soon.

Sherlock smirked at John's impatience, and saw Molly giggle as he kissed his soon to be wife. Awkward laughter spread throughout the church, but the couple didn't hear it. At first Mary was trying weakly to push him off, but it was to no avail. All efforts stopped as she melted into the kiss, wrapping her hands around John's neck and kissing him back with just as much passion. It was a beautiful, sweet kiss that proved just how much they belonged together, and neither wanted it to end.

Unfortunately, there was still some business they had to attend to. Sherlock stepped next to John, cleared his throat, and in a low, deep voice said in his ear, "I believe that part comes after the actual ceremony."

The two broke apart, both of them turning bright red as they turned toward the officiator. Smiling, Sherlock, Molly, and the rest of the wedding party followed suit, and watched as the two spoke their vows and pledged themselves to one another.

Sherlock didn't understand weddings. They had always seemed like such boring affairs, filled with promises that most likely wouldn't be kept. But John and Mary were something different. Since he had come back, he had watched the two of them interact, and they seemed to make each other better. She was to John what Molly had been to him, the person who fixed him when he was broken.

In that moment, Sherlock realized something about sentiment. It wasn't always an advantage. It opened far too much vulnerability to enemies that were seeking to abuse it. It was constantly available to those who would seek to exploit it, and it was an obvious way to get to him, to hurt him.

But it wasn't a weakness, either. Sentiment provided a release from one's own mind with the concern of another. It combined the strengths of different people into a working unit that was able to handle whatever was thrown at them. It gave him someone to fix a person when they were broken, and it gave someone to do the same for him.

Sherlock decided in that moment, that no matter the drawbacks, sentiment was in fact a strength. And as he looked at Molly, he realized it was a strength he needed, and _wanted_, more of in his life.

He missed the vows and the rest of the ceremony, unable to focus on the happy couple in front of him. Finally, the moment came and John and Mary kissed again, this time as man and wife, the room exploding into applause.

**Well there it is... the long awaited and not quite finished wedding. I love this scene more than words can express. I love beautiful, stronger Molly. I love Sherlock figuring everything out. I love Mary, looking out for her best friend on her own special day, and I LOVE John, far too in love to care about the world around him. Let me know if you guys liked it or not! I love hearing from you, and thank you for the support so far. **


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: Do we really have to put these on every chapter? I obviously don't own this and never will, and I would love to not be reminded of that sad fact all the time. **

**That being said... Wow. I never expected this much support for my story,. 109 reviews? Crazy. You guys have been incredible, and I just want to take a minute and say thank you so so very much. Unfortunately, we are just about done here. I'm really hoping that you like this chapter though... I have a feeling you might. As always, shoot me a review and tell me what you think! I love you all tons, and thanks again. **

Chapter 24

The celebration was something to be marveled at. The decorations were beautiful, the food divine, and in Molly's opinion, everything was absolutely perfect.

She smiled as she watched the newlywed Watsons dance, John twirling his bride in endless circles as she laughed. The smile grew as Mrs. Hudson was pulled into a dance by a slightly drunk Lestrade, and she sat contently watching them stumble around, not realizing that it left her completely alone at the table.

And then suddenly, he was there, his hand outstretched to take hers. Sherlock led his pathologist out onto the dance floor without saying a word. She was almost too shocked to react to his sudden appearance. He took one hand in his, placed the other on the small of her back, and pulled her in tightly. After a minute, Molly couldn't hear the music anymore. It was just the two of them, and nothing else in the world seemed to matter.

They danced for what seemed to Molly hours, but in reality was probably no more than a few songs. The festivities were starting to die down, and guests were disappearing as they returned to where Sherlock had been sitting.

The table was empty, and Molly looked around to see Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, John and Mary all talking at a different table about 30 feet away, along with a few police officers that they had become fairly close with and John's sister, Harry. She wanted to go join them, but there was a look in Sherlock's eyes that told her to stay put. She did so, unsure of what the next few minutes may hold.

Sherlock bent and brought the box of items up to the table, registering the surprise in Molly's face when he did so. There was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach as he tried to speak, but at first he couldn't form a coherent thought. "Molly, do you… what is… why?"

She looked at him, not understanding. This was going to be harder than he had originally thought. He took a breath and then tried again, speaking a bit faster than normal, even for him. "Molly, do you know what the items in this box mean?"

She was completely caught off guard now. "What do you mean, Sherlock? They are just random things you left behind at my flat. They aren't important…" She faltered at the look on his face, "..are they?"

Sherlock looked away. This had been a bad idea. No, John had said that… and anyway, he was already started. She would just be confused if he didn't finish. He paused another moment to gather his thoughts and then slowly continued.

"No Molly. They are not random, and they have never been random, although I can honestly say that I wasn't completely aware of the depth of their significance until quite recently. That night before the fall when I came to you for help Molly, I told you that you have always counted. And although you were willing to risk everything to help me, I could tell that you still didn't believe it. So I set out to prove it to you."

Molly still didn't seem to understand, so Sherlock opened the box and started pulling out items, explaining each one. "The yo-yo. To symbolize that you were always there for me. I would go out and do everything I needed to, but in the end, you were always there to guide me home."

"The Skull. At Baker Street, I keep a skull that I can talk to when I need to get things out of my head. You were the one person who I could always talk to, unloading all of my burdens, and you would just sit and listen. It helped me far more than I think you could have known."

" The statue of Liberty keychain. People are constantly trying to change me because I make them uncomfortable. You have always taken me for who I am, and for reasons that I cannot understand, you still care about me after all that I have done to you. You accept me for who I am, and the keychain was to represent a liberty to be myself."

He glanced at her face, trying to gauge a reaction. The only visible emotion was shock, which wasn't helpful at all. However, it was not a rejection, so he continued. "The nesting doll. As I spent more time with you, I saw that there are many different sides to your personality. You are not the weak Molly that was my first impression, you have many more levels to you, and you are always surprising me. I think that I have yet to discover all the aspects of your personality."

"The rose. It is a fake flower because no matter the situation you stay the same. You are beautiful and kind, and unlike a real rose, thatt doesn't go away or die at the end of a season. You are constant, delicate, and something beautiful that ought to be protected."

"The watch. Presumably it was an heirloom from one of the men that I defeated, from a great grandfather. If you look at the inside, the parts are all original, although it is an antique. And yet it is still perfectly on time, running since the very first. This is to symbolize trust. It takes work to earn my trust, and very few people have earned it, all of whom happen to be here tonight. But from the very beginning I have trusted you, Molly. To be there when I needed you,to do what needed to be done, to help me in my time of need. I have always trusted you."

Molly was speechless after this confession. She was impressed by the poetry of this moment, and yet she wasn't surprised. Although at first it seemed out of character, she had always thought Sherlock to be just as capable of feeling as anyone else, if not more so. Yes, he was cold and harsh, but he was also the same man who played out emotions he didn't know or understand on the violin late into the evening. She had seen the agony he had felt after his death, and had even heard the steady rhythm spoken into his deductions. So as strange as it was, this moment didn't feel impossible.

However, there was something missing. She was sure he hadn't forgotten it, but there it lay on the table, waiting to be explained. In a raspy voice she was almost unable to find, she asked, "the heart?"

Sherlock nodded. Up until this point, it had been fairly simple to explain the objects. But of course, the hardest explanation still lay between them on the table. He had hoped she wouldn't notice that he had left it out, but he had known that she would.

He took a deep breath once again and tried to continue on, staring at the heart and ardently avoiding her gaze. "I have always known that you were important to me, Molly, although I didn't understand to what level until a recent discussion with John opened my eyes. The heart originally signified my experiments, and all the valuable work you do when you help me with them."

He saw disappointment on her face, and was upset to have hurt her, even for a second. "However…" he felt his pulse quicken as he pushed on, "I think that for a long time now, my subconscious has been betraying me when it comes to you. I have always been told that I was heartless, but I know now that isn't true. I do have a heart, but it has never belonged to me. When I left that model on your couch, I literally and figuratively gave my heart away. To you, Molly Hooper. My... my heart belongs to you."

He finally looked up, and could see his words taking hold. At this point, he didn't know what he was expecting or even hoping for. Molly's face betrayed a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, and he wasn't quite sure which one would actually win.

So he kept speaking, although it was quite unnecessary at this point, the words giving him something to focus on. "I can't promise that I won't hurt you, or that it will always be safe with me, or that I will even live up to your expectations. But I can promise you that I will love you and protect you with all my strength, and that I will never let you go."

Molly's eyes lit up on the word "love". Sherlock cursed himself for not having thought to say it earlier. Of course he should have lead with that. He had done this completely wrong, he knew it, and there was no way…

She came closer to him, and weaved her fingers through his curls. "Sherlock Holmes, you insufferable git," she said, and Sherlock had just enough time to register the smile playing on her lips before they crashed against his own.

He responded quickly, putting one arm around her waist and the other hand behind her neck, pulling her as close as possible. He pushed his lips into hers, hungry for her. A soft moan escaped her, and he grinned against her lips, unable to think of anything that could possibly be better than this moment.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: Last one, yay! I DON"T OWN THESE CHARACTERS**

**Here we are... At the end. 25 freaking chapters. Thanks for all the support. I love you all.**

Chapter 25

Tonight had been practically perfect, John thought, as he sat, holding the hand of his new wife and surrounded by some of his best friends. Only Sherlock and Molly were missing, off at another table talking. Sherlock had seemed out of sorts earlier, and he hoped that whatever it was that was bothering him wasn't being taken out on Molly. He looked up to see how the two of them were getting on, and an impossibly large grin exploded onto his face.

"Alright everybody, pay up." The rest of the table looked at him, at first confused, but then they caught his meaning and immediately shifted their attention to the detective and his pathologist. Each turned back with apparent shock on their faces, but one by one, a smile crept onto everyone's lips.

Then a pile of bills were being pushed over in John's direction from each person at the table. He gathered them up happily, hoping that they would come in handy for the honeymoon.

Lestrade grumbled a bit as he pushed his share at John. "That's not really fair, Watson. You took the first pick, and weddings are inherently romantic. Besides, I already got you a gift."

Mary laughed as she quipped, "Oh lighten up, Greg. You're just upset because you didn't think they would even make it out of the hospital last month. You weren't even close."

Mrs. Hudson smiled in agreement. "To be fair, none of us but John actually thought it would take this long. If you recall, Mary, you had them at a few days after the first night she stayed at Baker Street."

They all laughed at this, the copious amounts of champagne they'd had throughout the night making everything just a bit funnier. Lestrade looked over at the other table again. "My God, they haven't even come up for air yet."

The laughter grew louder, growing to a point that it was finally noticeable to the kissing couple. Molly pulled away, embarrassed, but Sherlock refused to be phased. He grabbed her hand and together they walked over to the other table and joined the group, everyone laughing and celebrating for them as well as the newlyweds.

John couldn't stop the grin on his face. Now, everything really was perfect.

Eventually everyone left. Mary had insisted on staying until every person had gone, and so eventually it was just the two of them, slow dancing in a silent room. John couldn't believe how lucky he was. They swayed back and forth in the silence, focusing only on each other. In that moment, John felt unstoppable.

They arrived at the hotel late, but they both knew that their night wasn't quite over yet. John fumbled in his pocket to pull out the room keys, but couldn't find them anywhere.

Just then, his phone buzzed with a text. John swore as he read it, and then passed it to his wife, whose eyes grew wide as a bemused smile crossed her lips. They turned and walked back toward the lift, unable to quite believe what they had just read.

_Molly asked me to share our congratulations. Also, we ought to thank you for the room. -SH_

**The End**

Well there you have it! I seriously can't believe the overwhelming support that this story has gotten. I honestly did not expect it, and I am ever so grateful. Now for a few things to take care of...

**First**. Thank you to everyone who reviewed. It really does help me to know what you guys are thinking about when you read, and helps me see what I can do to become a better writer.

**Second.** Thank you to everybody who followed or favorited this story. Its weird, but I just get so excited whenever I see those numbers go up. I think part of it has to do with the fact that I have absolutely no one to fangirl to in my actual friends and family, except one person, who is avidly against Sherlolly. so seeing that other people ship it and love the things that I love... it just makes my day.

**Third.** Now on to the not so fun news. A lot of you have contacted me about writing a sequel to this fic. Believe me, I would absolutely love to do that, but there are complications.

You see, in 5 days, I am moving to Argentina (complete other side of the world for me) to do humanitarian work for somewhere between a year and 18 months. It is an absolutely amazing opportunity that I have been given, but unfortunately it does not include internet access (I know, I am freaking out). SO as much as I would love to write a sequel, you guys wouldn't get it for at least a year, probably more, because I wouldn't be able to update hardly ever. Would it be worth it? I don't know... drop me a review or a PM and let me know.

I will definitely be back as soon as I can, because I adore writing on here. Sherlolly is my obsession, so you can definitely expect more of that later, regardless of what happens in Season 3. Unfortunately I was introduced to the wonderful world of fanfiction just a little too late.

**Forth.** Finally... Until I leave, I will be doing oneshots every day, possibly multiple a day. PM me a prompt if you have any desires... I would love to do as many as possible before I go.

Thanks for reading this incredibly long end note. I really do love you all so very much.

Love, Gennie


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